Rest in Peace
Judy's gone. Buried her up on the crest. Where she could watch her birds fly ... except... now there aren't really birds anymore. Just those... things.
The disease that got her... it moved fast. Too fast. Her skin started... molting. Like... one of the "projects" in the intelligence memos. Was this what we were chasing? What Eckhart and the Dept. of Ag. had been up to?
Maybe they could've fixed her at the bunker. They would've executed me for treason... but maybe they'd let her live.
Now we'll never know.
Instead I've locked myself in my daughter's tomb. And others out there are dying, just like Judy. Chatter on the radio coming from Harpers Ferry gets grimmer every day.
Suppose I've got more canned goods than I'll ever need now.
About time I went for a walk.